


Trust Tomorrow

by citadelsushi



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Custom Shepard (Mass Effect), Earthborn (Mass Effect), Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Origin Story, Pre-Mass Effect 1, Recreational Drug Use, Tenth Street Reds, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-02-09 08:13:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18634261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citadelsushi/pseuds/citadelsushi
Summary: Before she was Commander Shepard, she was Avory Drum.When the Tenth Street Reds threaten the only family she's ever known, loyalties are tested, beliefs challenged, and her life forever changed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Art by antivancorvo on tumblr

  


Over and over, Avory watches as white paints her hand, binds her fingers into a fist. She wraps her hand in time with the rise and fall of her chest, the rhythm every bit as natural.Tape over hand, under wrist, through fingers, under palm, over hand.  She doesn’t have to watch, doesn’t have to count each roll around her wrist, but she does. She could move more efficiently, get it done faster so she can finish her food, but she prefers taking her time.

It’s her post-dinner ritual, her calm before the storm. At her right, Nick is engaged in his own routine, cigarette dangling from his lips while tapping away at a datapad. On the table between them lies a shard of broken glass, neat lines of red sand cut and ready. A gentle snowfall of dust floats around them, illuminated by light leaking through between the slats in the walls.

“A little early for that, isn’t it?” A relatively unfamiliar tone asks, awkward in its attempt to sound casual. 

Nick plucks the cigarette from his mouth. “You say that like she doesn’t do this shit every time.” His words tumble out on a cloud of smoke.

Avory looks up from her task, her eyes landing on the uneasy teenager lurking in the kitchen corner, quirks a smile. “And aren’t you late? Shouldn’t you be out fondling strangers by now?” She cups her free hand in the air, twiddling her fingers around an invisible ball sack.

Aaron drops his eyes and clasps his hands together, fingers nervously playing with one another at his waist. Nick catches her sidelong glance by coincidence, forces her to do a double take at his stern stare, his brows pressed down firmly over his eyes. She tilts her head at his disapproval, mouths the question, “ _ what?” _ .

Sara appears behind Aaron, raven hair twisted into a collection of tight curls, and slides one manicured hand over his shoulder. “Be nice.” She purrs. “Aaron isn’t used to blowing his load on demand yet. Don’t worry, sweetie, you’ll get there.”

Avory finishes her left hand, peers through strands of blonde up to Sara. “Are we supposed to believe you actually like strange old men jizzing all over your face?”

“They’re not all old, and they’re not all men.” She lowers her voice, as if to share a secret, “Lately, they haven’t even all been human.” Aaron visibly flinches, Nick looks up from his data pad, suddenly interested. “But, yes.” Sara chuckles, brushing off Avory’s antagonism. “Besides, someone wants to slap me across the face, they pay me way more than what you get to take a hit five times harder.” She pauses, moves to stand between Avory and Nick, bends at the waist and quickly inhales a line of sand through one of her nostrils. She sighs, invigorated. “And I’m not smart enough to do that shit Nick fucks around with.” She flicks her wrist at the datapad in Nick’s hands, then moves back to Aaron, pats him on the back, “Trust me, you’ll start to like it. Once you get regulars, it feels more like dating. I’ve only ever been hurt, you know, like on purpose, not just from a rough fucking, like, four times. Maybe five.”

Sara shrugs with her usual nonchalance, a grin playing across her lips. Avory is pretty sure she’s kidding, but Aaron’s face pales just the same. Avory shakes her head and hooks her next wrap over her right thumb.

Nick drops his datapad on the table and grabs a piece of crust from Avory’s plate, shoves it into his mouth. He stands, makes his way to the two with whom they share the house. “This shit’s only temporary, Aaron. You won’t be selling your dick forever.” He claps his hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the younger man smiles sheepishly, seemingly more appreciative of Nick’s friendly contact than Sara’s dismissive pats. Nick lifts his cigarette to his lips, inhales, and raises his empty hand over Sara’s shoulder. She eyes him warily. “Sara, you... I think you’re fucked. Literally. You will be taking face shots forever.” His hand lands on her shoulder with empathy, but there is no hiding the shit-eating grin that takes over his face. It makes Avory smile too.

“Fuck you, Nick.” Sara laughs.

Nick slides his hand down to the small of her back, wearing the same cocky grin. “Do I get a discount?”

“We can work something out.” Sara winks, but she can’t hold her composure as well as Nick, and she laughs.

“Hey!” A new voice sounds from behind them and Finch appears, delivers a playful punch to Nick’s shoulder as he passes. “Hands off the merchandise, asshole.”

Nick snorts and lets his hand slide around Sara’s waist, pulling her in for a quick side hug before releasing her. “You running security tonight, Finch?”

Finch nods, makes his way to the table and presses his nose into powder and broken glass, inhaling deeply. “All weekend. Nothing like listening to a bunch of other people get laid while I stand outside, bored as fuck.”

Avory scoffs. “Oh Finch, we all know you find ways to entertain yourself.”

This makes Nick chuckle quietly, earning him a stern look from Finch.

“So what? I got too horned up the first few times.” He looks around the room to find everyone, even Aaron, holding back laughter at his expense. “Fuck you guys. I don’t anymore! Sara’s screaming just gets annoying after a while.”

“You’re such a fucking liar. I’ve seen the wet spots on your pants.” Sara saunters back to the table, inhales another line of sand. When she straightens, her eyes are glazed over. Avory recognizes the veil as more than a high, deeper than a coping mechanism. Even her voice drops half an octave as she shifts into strictly business.  “Boys, we really need to get moving. Avory, good luck tonight. Try not to die. Nick, try not to black out this time, huh? I don’t want to wake up to another shit on the floor.”

Nick grins, takes another drag of his cigarette. “No promises.”

Sara moves toward the door and Aaron falls in line behind her, his dark eyes angled at the floor. He forces a weak smile at Nick and Avory; she nods in acknowledgement, but doesn’t bother returning the smile. As he passes, she notices he’s wearing the same clothes as the day he arrived, his shirt still pressed and his hair still coiffed, but he doesn’t seem to fill them as well anymore. Finch hurries to snort one more line, then shuffles out the door, trying to keep up with Sara. The guy might be standing guard, but he clearly doesn’t hold an ounce of power in the trio.

“Kid doesn’t know what he got himself into.” Nick says once the door closes behind them.

“He’ll get used to it.”

Avory glances up from her hand to find Nick leaning back against the sink, his arms folded in front of his chest. “Were we looking at the same kid just now? He looked like a fucking ghost. And you gave him shit.”

“I was kidding.” She snaps defensively. “You say way worse to Sara.”

“Sara grew up here, she can handle it. That kid can’t.”

Avory sighs and begins to unwrap her recently finished right hand, coiling the tape back into a spool. Nick’s stare doesn’t leave her, and though she doesn’t look, she can predict the look on his face all too well. Piercing blue eyes narrowed, one brow raised inquisitively, his lips pursed. The dirty blonde curls falling onto his forehead are soft, but somehow don’t detract from the seriousness in his expression. The same look she wears when he’s being an ass. Sometimes she swears they really are related.

“He can always go home.”

“Didn’t he leave home because his mom tried to kill him or some shit?”

“Shit, I never heard the full story.” Avory scrunches her nose, begins to unwrap her left hand. “But he had his choice. He joined up. Shit, he still had a better fucking start than anyone in the real world and his only skill is being fucking good looking.”

Nick winces at her severity. “Sex work is probably a lot harder than he expected.”

Avory snorts, looks up to see if Nick made that pun on purpose. The same pinched expression tells her not to dwell on it. “Right, because getting a bunch of people off is so difficult. They get their own security detail for fuck’s sake.”

“I don’t know. Taking two dicks up the ass at once sounds pretty difficult.”

Avory snorts a laugh, a smile spreads like wildfire across her face. “Ouch, fuck. That makes me hurt just thinking about it.”

“That’s what I thought. If it were so easy, you’d have joined ‘em by now.”

Avory looks up to find Nick smiling again, far too full of himself as usual, eagerly awaiting her response. She’s tempted to stick out her tongue. “I’m better at fighting than I am at fucking.”

Nick chuckles, but the sound is hollow. “Practice makes perfect and all that, right?”

Their eyes lock and Nick’s smile fades, his arms tighten across his chest. Avory looks down at her hand. She knows what is coming and she hopes that maybe if she pretends to be oblivious, she can avoid the conversation. Maybe.

“Listen, Avory. I know-”

No such luck. Avory sighs, drops her hands between her knees, lets the remaining tape dangle off her palm, spiraling midair. “Fuck, Nick, can you fucking quit it?”

“Whoa, calm down, killer.” Nick holds his hands up in surrender. “All I’m saying is we can’t live in this shit hole until we die.”

Avory has to chuckle at that, though it’s dry. “At least this shit hole has a roof.”

“You used to like sleeping under the stars.”

Avory finishes unwrapping her left hand and stretches her fingers. “I also like having a real bed instead of a fucking cardboard mat.”

“We can’t stay here forever, Avey.”

Avory flinches at the softness in his tone, silently curses him for using that name, the name she used to call herself when she was too young to pronounce it correctly. The name he had continued to call her affectionately, even now, so many years later she could barely remember which foster home it was in that they met. Her fingers curl into fists and then stretch out again. Fuck him for using that name against her.

“Yeah, well I’m not trying to live forever. Ignis elegit nos.” She repeats the Red’s mantra, her voice grave and flat.

The same mantra they had repeated at each stage of their initiation, until the beatings left them without oxygen,  _ “ignis”  _ being the only word either could spit out among chipped teeth and blood. The same lyric that Konnor spewed from his sinister lips as a command, one that each member knew and obeyed without hesitation. The same words whispered with a smile, gifted with food, with comfort, with promises of a family just before iron fresh from the fire burned an  _ R _ into their flesh.

Nick frowns, uncrosses his arms and returns to his seat on her right. He stares at his datapad, the same outdated piece of shit he’s had for months now. He’s silent for a second, then ten. It’s going on 45 and Avory leans forward, takes a line of sand into her nose before he speaks again.

“You’re a biotic, some people actively recruit biotics.” He sounds so solemn Avory almost feels guilty. “I’m smart, probably better with tech than most of those fuckers working normal jobs, anyway.” He leans forward, rests his elbows on the table. “If I can find us a way out, you’ll come with me, right?”

Avory swallows, her brows coming together as she shifts her weight in her seat, her eyes dropping to Nick’s hands on the table. “You’d go without me?”

Nick lets a quiet laugh escape his lips and sits back, drawing his arms back over his chest. He lifts a leg, playfully kicks at her chair. “Fuck no. You’re my little sister.”

Avory rights her chair, glances up at him through her lashes. She didn’t need to ask, but she likes hearing it. They’ve been together almost as long as either could remember, even at a distance, as they cycled through foster family after foster family. Blood meant nothing, he was her brother, their relationship forged by a longing for normality and comfort as much as it was by necessity.

“Yeah, okay, you go find us some fucking miracle and I’ll go with you to work a normal job.” She laughs, leans forward for another line. “Shit, maybe we can start paying rent on some shitty apartment, work in a cubicle. It’ll be great.”

“Hey, fuck you, okay.” Nick is only somewhat serious because he laughs. “I’ve got something in the works.”

Avory looks at her brother, searches his face for any clues. He gives nothing away, though she finds a new determination in his eyes, something that wasn’t there when he’s nagged her about this before. She always assumed it was a fantasy, just talk, like when he used to daydream about riding a giraffe and she used to dream about living among the stars.

“‘Kay, well can you work while you come watch me kick some sixth street ass?”

Nick nods and leans forward, inhales the last line on the glass, tips his head back as the sand enters his bloodstream. “Fuck!” He shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Avory snorts. “Amateur.”

Nick comes back, punches her in the shoulder. Avory lifts her arm and balls her fist, leans forward, threatens to hit back.

“All right, all right!” Nick jerks away, folds his arms defensively in front of his chest. “Save it for later, killer.”

“Later is now.” Avory stands, shoves her wraps into the pockets of her sweats. “Let’s go, shithead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignis elegit nos - fire chose us  
> (I used a motto creator for this, so hopefully it reads correctly)
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> I don't know how many chapter this will be yet as it's still in the works, but will update every few weeks or so.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, reader! Thank you for making it to chapter two.  
> I'm currently working 60+ hours a week, so updates will be few and far between, but know that I am still plugging away! I appreciate everyone who gives this a read.

Avory is on a roll. It’s unclear whether the extra calories she stole that morning by way of an elbow to a competitor’s gut are paying off, or if she got lucky and inhaled just the right amount of red sand, but her blood sings victory in her ears. From the sounds of it, the crowd feels just as well. At least 4 people thick and only feet away, their hollering and cheering, their calling of bets and promising threats, all reach her ears as washed out as if she were underwater and miles away. She is only vaguely aware of the individuals in the crowd, their faces blurring into an inconsistent background of moving color.

Few of those faces actually matter, and they all gather ring side, currently just off to her right. Nick, cigarette pinched between two fingers and suspended mere inches from his lips, his need for nicotine temporarily less important than his need for entertainment. Konnor, who stands just in front and to the left of Nick, holds himself perfectly upright, arms crossed in front of him and barely moving despite the jostling of the crowd at his back.  Always on his right, Mikki pumps her first in the air as she yells at Avory, her screams a blend of encouragement and harassment. But even those three faces fade to white noise as she refocuses on the one in front of her, the only truly important one at that moment.

A nameless face with hair as neon pink as a Blasto poster plastered to his forehead, his prominent nose now crooked and bloodied, draining into his mouth as he pants for air. He sways like caution tape in the wind, but to his credit, he keeps his fists up. Not that it matters. Avory drops her shoulder and charges in with enough force to impress a krogan, collides with his abdomen and follows him to the ground. It’s over now, Avory knows. She also knows that a take down isn’t a satisfactory end for bidders, or for Konnor. 

Straddling her opponent’s waist, she lets her fists fly in a fury. His head rattles between her knuckles, his arms flailing loosely at his side, no longer strong enough to hold them up. He coughs, spits blood into the air; most of it falls back onto him, but not before spraying across Avory’s face. One more strike and the young man beneath her goes completely limp, head rolled to the side, blood congealing into sticky black clumps as it drips from his mouth onto the asphalt. Third of the evening, finished.

The crowd roars to life around her as she stands, pushing against the unconscious body below her to do so. With the back of her hand, Avory wipes at the blood splatter on her face, though it accomplishes nothing. Blood from her fist mingles with the splatter on her face, smears from her hairline to her left ear, over her eye in what she imagines looks like an intentional battle mask. 

A glance over her shoulder lets her know, yes, it does, and it looks badass; Nick is clearly amused, his cigarette finally at home between his lips. Mikki keeps her eyes trained on the young man being dragged out of the makeshift arena. Konnor, however, has locked his sights on Avory, his cold, dark eyes alight with a sense of malevolence that fills her with dread.

Once the defeated young man is clear, Mikki detaches herself from Konnor and saunters into the ring. Her arm slithers around Avory’s shoulders, a touch from which she would normally recoil, but the pit is not the time or the place for any action that might come across as infighting or weakness. Especially not with the Sixth Street Serpents looking on. 

Avory skims the crowd, if only to hide her intention of looking directly at them, lumped together on the opposite end of the ring from Konnor and the Reds. They stand out enough, all wearing hideous shades of mustard yellow and pea green with white artificial snakeskin vests, that anyone who didn’t know better wouldn’t fault her for looking their direction. Avory does know better, though. Knows well enough that eye contact with their leader, Nissa, after just beating her fighter, could ignite a war. 

“Three-and-oh for the Tenth Street Reds!” Mikki is awfully proud for having accomplished nothing. “Anyone else willing to throw one into the pit?”

Murmurs from the surrounding crowd. Avory scans the crowd again, waiting for movement, waiting for an excuse to push Mikki off and get back to work. Her thick red hair sticks to Avory’s cheek and she weighs heavily on her left side, hindering her ability to keep her arms up and ready.

“Come on, ya bunch of nut sacks!” Mikki pushes herself off of Avory and grabs at her crotch, circling around for the entire crowd to see, her laugh antagonizing.

Avory shoots a look at Nick, who matches her with an annoyed stare of his own. Sometimes she swears rivals only offer up fighters in order to fight Mikki vicariously, in hopes of shutting her up. Although, that’s what they all did, essentially: throw soldiers together in a show of strength, of ruthlessness, that leaders didn’t have to dirty their hands with personally. A pissing contest that prevented actual fights from breaking out, let the other gangs know exactly how much heat each was packing. All under the guise of a bloodthirsty good time.

For a while, that was all it had been to Avory. The Reds had taken care to start her out slow, only tossing her into the warm up ring. The first couple of fights of the night were child’s play: new recruits tossed in as punishment, young kids being groomed into something more, boys and girls no older than 10 grappling to survive though they had no idea what was at risk.

In the beginning, she had her ass handed to her more times than she could count. But Avory had always been scrappy. It took only a few months for her to grasp the finer concepts of a fight, to learn the subtleties of an impending attack, to find weakness in an opponent, to never let her guard down until her match could hardly breathe, let alone stand. She learned just as quickly that the better she performed, the more the Reds liked her. More spilled blood meant more food, more comfort. Another win meant another day she and Nick survived.

Eventually, the pit became both punishment and release, education and discipline. Both a sanctuary and a prison, the pit felt like coming home. Even after learning the real game, the ugly purpose hiding beneath the surface. Her purpose.

“Ahh, finally!” Mikki shouts. “And it’s another snake!”

Avory spins to the field of yellow, where the sea parts and spits out a new threat. Mikki’s hand pats her on the back as she retreats, but this time Avory doesn’t mind shaking her off. Her focus is renewed, honing in on the young woman stalking toward her. Avory scans her form, almost entirely clad in white snakeskin, shimmering opalescent as she moves. She’s roughly the same height as Avory, but stockier, and her hair is slicked back with grease. Avory almost grins. Sixth street certainly has style; this girl looks like a serpent.

Immediately, the two begin to circle each other. No formalities require them to square off or to bow, no need to learn the other’s name or acknowledge them as anything more than a new threat that must be eliminated. Avory appreciates that. She also appreciates the snake drawing nearer, her arms raised and palms flat, fingers aimed at Avory like pistols, the same competitive gleam residing in her eyes as in Avory's.

The snake strikes first, lunges at her with unnerving precision. Avory blocks her hands with her forearms, but doesn’t see the kick coming until it’s too late. The snake’s shin connects with her ribs and Avory grunts despite herself, folds toward her injured side. A cheer erupts from the crowd and the snake strikes again. This time her fist careens toward her face and Avory ducks out of range, charges forward into her opponent. Snake staggers backward from the force, drives elbows down into her back, but the blows are worthless wastes of energy as they rain down on her shoulder blades. They both fall to the ground and Avory climbs on top, pins the snake down by her shoulder with one arm while winding back the other. Her right fist comes down hard against the snake’s cheek bone once, twice. On the third, there is a sickening crunch as bone breaks. 

For a moment, she hesitates, has to look at her own fist to check for mangled fingers, for the source of the noise. Her once clean wraps are stained red all the way up to her forearm, the portion covering her knuckles saturated  black, but her hand is in fine form. Glancing back at the snake, Avory almost feels a twinge of guilt. Her face is already horrendously swollen, her left eye barely visible but glaringly red beneath a rapidly purpling face. 

Even a moment’s hesitation is too long. The snake thrusts her hips upward, the momentum of which throws Avory forward. She rolls into the force, summersaults back onto her feet. No sooner than she’s standing does she get knocked down to her knees, an unseen blow to her back that draws a yelp as the breath is knocked from her chest. Another cheer from the crowd. She doesn’t need to look to sense the disappointment radiating from Konnor, or the concern coming from Nick.

_ Get it the fuck together, dumbass. _

Avory rolls onto her back just in time to see the Snake’s foot coming at her again, intent on stomping her into the ground. She captures it by the ankle, yanks forward as hard as she can, upsets the snake, brings her ass to the ground with a thud. Then she’s on her, this time with no hesitation, no feeling, and her vision is blurred as she clings to the snake’s shirt, supporting herself with the fabric as she lands blow after blow to the young girl’s already damaged face. Familiarity creeps over her as the girl’s head rocks back and forth, away from every blow and then right back into it. She’s almost limp beneath her, her arms try once more to block her face from the attack, but fall to her sides in vain. Avory can almost predict to the second how much longer before the snake passes out. She doesn't let herself wonder if the break to the girl's cheekbone will recover, if the girl will wake up, if Nissa will kill her for losing if Avory doesn't finish the job herself.

Too intent on finishing the task at hand, Avory doesn't notice the girl's hand reaching for her thigh, doesn't catch on to the change in the crowd’s volume. There's a barely audible  _ swish _ and Avory hisses at the sudden burning pain in her side. Instinctively, her hand clutches at her ribcage, feels hot, slick fluid seeping against her palm. 

_ Fuck. _

Avory rolls off the snake, narrowly avoiding her blade’s next swipe in the process. She steps up and backs away, slowly peels her hand away from the wound. Fortunately, the snake had slashed rather than stabbed, carving a laceration several inches long in her side. Blood flows freely from the wound, seeping into her tank top and dripping down her waist. How had she missed the snake concealing a knife?

Steeling herself, Avory brings her arms up in front of her, her own blood trickles from her hand down her elbow. The snake is standing again, albeit unsteadily. The knife she had been hiding is clutched in her left hand, 4 inch blade sticking straight up as she holds it in front of her. She wields it like an idiot, Avory thinks, but she's seen plenty of people killed by an idiot with a knife.

Introducing a weapon this late into the game, though not forbidden, was typically frowned upon. For the snake, however, the crowd seems to have made an exception. She wants to look to Konnor, to see if he had expected this. A sinking feeling in her stomach tells her that he did. Even worse was that if he had expected a knife from Sixth Street, he expected even more from her. 

Snake charges, her knife hand outstretched and swinging wildly. Avory ducks, jumps to the side, does her best to keep her distance while circling toward the Snake's blind side. Around them, the crowd is energized, and Avory can't tell if she's paranoid, or if the group has pressed in tighter around them, effectively limiting the amount of room with which she has to maneuver around the blade. 

Only a few circles in and Avory jumps backward toward the crowd, watching as the snake sinks her blade into the air where her shoulder had just been. There's no time to so much as inhale before the bodies behind her push her savagely forward, thrusting her directly into harm's way. The snake strikes again and Avory catches the blade with her forearm, the smooth metal biting into her flesh and tearing downward, giving life to a new river of blood. She can’t hold back the scream that erupts from her throat. 

Avory watches as her opponent coils, springs forward again, drags her blade across her forearm once more. It's all Avory can do to block the oncoming attacks, her screams turning to howls of pained  rage with each strike. She has backed herself into a corner, unable to flee or duck around the snake without giving her easy access to soft areas of her body that would not handle knife wounds as well as her bony forearms. 

Blood pours down her arms and out of her side. She's lost track of just how many times the snake has bitten her, but she knows she can't handle much more. Panic crashes into her like a freight train, adrenaline floods her veins. Her entire body vibrates as she feels eezo surge upward from her bones, standing the hair on her arms on end. Clenching her jaw, Avory clamps down on it, urges the dark energy prickling her nerves to quiet. Weapons may be allowed in the pit, but the use of biotics, even biotics themselves, was a serious offense.

Avory barely has a handle on the energy when the snake strikes again. She reaches upward before realizing what it is she is doing, a passenger to her body’s muscle memory in action, catches the snake’s wrist in both hands, the blade trapped. Just as quickly, she spins, brings the snake’s arm over her shoulder and jerks down with all her strength. 

Lightning cracks, but none strikes overhead.. The sickening crack of a humerus snapping like a toothpick. For a second, the crowd is struck silent. Avory cannot afford to pay the crowd any attention, even now that the snake's arm feels like rubber in her hands and the knife has clattered to the ground. She releases the girl's wrist, drops to retrieve the knife, ignores the fact that the blood covering the blade belongs to her. 

An unusual stillness catches her eye and Avory looks up, finds Konnor standing directly in her line of sight. He still has his arms crossed, his unfeeling stare leveled on her trembling form. She glances away, over her shoulder to where the snake clutches her broken arm, the limb flopping unnaturally as she sobs. Avory looks back to Konnor, does her best to keep any semblance of pleading off her face, hopes she only looks weak because she's exhausted. 

Impossibly, Konnor's face darkens further. It's the only response she needs to the unspoken question on her lips. 

Avory stands, her limbs shaking despite her willing them to steady. Even her jaw trembles as she turns to face the maimed girl still standing in the ring. Their eyes meet; gone is the light in her eyes, the competitive edge they had shared just minutes ago, vanished. Instead there's pain, wide eyed fear, a sad sort of understanding Avory wishes she didn't recognize.

Blood glues the knife's handle to her palm, solidifying her grip. Three strides eats up the distance between them, gets Avory close enough that she's able to grab the snake around the back of her neck and bring her in damn near for a hug. The snake tries to push away with her good arm, but she has no gas left in her tank. Avory drops her chin, watches as the knife plunges into the girl's abdomen, bringing her arm along with it as if the object as a life of its own. Snake shrieks, tries to pull away from the pain, and Avory tightens her fingers around her neck. There is no escaping her fate. As she withdraws the knife, Avory can feel the serrated edge tear the snake's flesh, the blade too dull now to make a clean break. 

Blood gushes from the gaping wound and Avory releases the girl's neck. She had still been trying to pull away, and without Avory holding her close, she immediately falls backward. Her left arm bent unnaturally back, her right hand trying in vain to keep her blood from running out of her abdomen, she has no limbs to impede her fall and her ass hits the pavement hard enough to knock the air from her lungs. Still, she tries to cry, succeeding only in producing choked, nearly silent heaves, her face twisted in agony.

_ Pathetic. _

Avory winces at her own thought.

But she embraces it. She has to.

Snake has already accepted her fate; she doesn’t try to scramble or crawl away, she doesn’t plead for her life, doesn’t beg for help. However it happens, whether it be slow due to her wounds or quick by Avory’s hand, they both know she’s already dead.

Avory tries to take solace in that as she kneels down beside the girl, grabs a fistful of hair at the back of her head. She tries to remember that she’s just doing what she needs to get by, that the snake would do the same if their places were reversed. As she presses the blade to the snake’s throat, she reminds herself that she’s done this before, that she can do it again. That she can handle it.

“Please,” the snake chokes, so quiet Avory can barely tell if it’s real, “do it quick.”

Avory clenches her jaw so hard it makes her ears ring. Asking her should make it easier, but hearing the girl ask for a quick death, the only mercy she will ever know, is enough to make Avory’s grip on the blade loosen.

_ Pathetic. _

It’s a temporary lapse. 

With white knuckles and a trembling hand, Avory pushes the blade into the girls’ skin and slashes, draws a deep line across her throat. The snake’s mouth falls open and blood gushes from behind her lips, from her neck, surges forward wave after wave and pools on the asphalt. As Avory watches the life fade from the snake’s eyes, she tries not to think at all.


	3. Chapter Three

Nothing excites a crowd as much as spilled blood. 

Nick assumes human kind has always been this way. He remembers reading once about an ancient civilization who held massive events in which people would fight to the death for entertainment. They had even built an arena, called it the Colosseum, specifically to house the dozens of thousands of spectators who arrived from miles around to watch the gruesome fights. Competitors were called gladiators, granted the title as if it were something to be valued. As if they weren't simply unwanted cuts of meat thrown into a grinder, chewed up and spat out in a mangled mess of muscle and blood. 

Chicago's underbelly had adopted the same sport somewhere along the line, though it wasn't nearly as extravagant. There was no rich emperor sponsoring the fights, no luxury involved even for the highest ranks. In Rome, Nick had read, the majority of the Colosseum’s victims were slaves or captives of war, beaten and whipped until the driving force behind them was painful enough they were willing to enter the ring to escape, despite knowing they faced certain death. 

No one in the pit was forced to participate. At least, not explicitly. 

No, the Reds - Konnor - was a master of manipulation. Threats were beneath him, peasant’s work, the reason he kept Mikki around. Konnor was more subtle; if he wanted a person to do his bidding, he found a way to push his own desires onto them, to make his wants their wants, to turn his needs into their needs until little more remained of his victim than the relentless search for his approval.

Not that Konnor’s aversion to employing violence meant he enjoyed the pit any less than his subjects. In fact, Nick was inclined to believe he enjoyed the fights more than anyone else. A puppeteer watching his marionettes perform on stage, obeying his every command despite never uttering a word. The exhibit was as much to prove his control over his own gang as it was to prove the Reds as a group not to be fucked with.

Though, to everyone but Nick, it seemed none of that mattered. Hell, most of the time Nick doubted anyone else saw what he saw. He knew Avory didn't. As far as the rest of the Reds were concerned, there was no deeper meaning to any of it. To them, the monthly engagement was just a bunch of people gathering to beat the ever living shit out of one another. 

And Nick had to admit, going to the pit was a really fucking good time. Bringing together five groups of people who swore to oppose each other until death, but were able to put aside that hate long enough to watch a grisly fist fight, created a unique energy. The air crackled with it, a fuse of youthful rebellion ignited by alcohol, a powder keg of red sand exploding into enthusiastic violence. For a short time each month, every member could relax, get a little fucked up, and pretend they were kids. For a short time, they could forget to pretend they were adults.

Unfortunately for them, everything good is also short lived.

As much as everyone loves seeing a victor pummel their opponent into a bloody pulp, no one wants to lose a member, a friend, a sibling. Death in the pits is expected, but it never fails to kill the mood. For Nick, the mood had been ruined as soon as the serpent pulled a knife; watching his sister getting sliced up is a sure way to kill a buzz. Now, watching as Avory silently came to terms with what she had just done, all Nick can feel is sober relief.

An eerie silence falls over the crowd as Avory stands over her victim, the blade in her hand still dripping with blood. Steam rises from her crimson stained skin. Her chest heaves as she gazes down at the lifeless body beneath her. Backlit by hazy orange streetlight glow, she looks otherworldly. Like an ancient gladiator, cloaked in neon and death.

Mikki enters the circle, hips swaying in her usual exaggerated fashion, but she keeps her distance from Avory. She knows better than to approach a fighter stiff with adrenaline. As she approaches the center, she shouts, “And the knife hiding bitch makes four!” 

Some of the crowd cheers, some grumble in disdain. Accepting the outcome, most of the group begins to exchange credit chits and their meager, yet prized, possessions, passing over lost bets begrudgingly. But Nick's attention is drawn elsewhere, beyond Avory, over Mikki's shoulder where Sixth Street clumps together. 

Not a single face looks surprised, though maybe a bit disappointed. No sadness either. Instead, a cool, determined veil had fallen over all their faces, their eyes locked on Avory in identical fashion as if they were a singular being. Nissa doesn’t look fazed in the least by her gladiator's defeat. A chill creeps down Nick's spine, giving rise to the hairs on the back of his neck. He quickly glances to Konnor, statuesque as ever, to find his stare locked on Nissa. A grin stretches tight across his lips but his smile never reaches his eyes, the expression so unnatural on his gaunt face that it looks painful.

Nausea takes root in Nick’s stomach and blossoms upward, pushes gin flavored bile into his throat. 

As Mikki begins taunting the Broncs, Nick spots movement and his attention snaps back to the Serpents. Two bodies right of Nissa, a brute of a man with white pants and no shirt unfolds his arms and cracks his knuckles, his actions slow and deliberate. Nick had never seen a krogan in person, but he imagines this man is as close to krogan size as humans can get without genetic modification. The man's legs are thick as cement pillars, but they carry him efficiently enough that he bursts into the ring and makes it to the center before anyone in the crowd can react. 

Nick, however, is already watching.

Panic makes his voice hoarse when he yells, “Avory!”

Under less threatening circumstances, Nick would have been proud of Avory for knowing to look up in the direction opposite of where he stands, over her shoulder to the blind spot of which he has a perfect view. She looks just in time to dart forward, narrowly avoiding the juggernaut charging directly at her. The man’s momentum continues to carry him forward into Mikki, whose reflexes aren’t nearly as quick, and she takes the full force of his attack.

Mikki doesn’t have time to scream. The force of the man crashing into her sends her flying to the edge of the ring, limbs flailing as she spirals through the air. She lands with a thud, rolls to a stop at the feet of the Broncs. Blood trickles from her scalp down her hairline, her only movement comes from the unsteady rise and fall of her chest. No one bothers to check on her. The man growls, doesn’t bother casting Mikki a second look before he whirls around to find his target. 

Avory is a deer caught in headlights, and for the first time, Nick is afraid. He’s never seen her look quite as she does now, crouched and ready to run or rip out a throat. She clings desperately to the knife in her hand, keeps it tight against her body, ready for defense. Compared to the giant standing off against her, she looks so small, so young. The stone cold killer she had just proven herself to be vanished and left in the ring was a scared, scrawny teenage girl. 

Again, the brute charges, the ground shakes with each step. Blood rushes in Nick's ears, his body paralyzed with fear, unable to so much as holler with the rest of the crowd as the giant closes in on Avory. She stands directly in his path, every muscle in her body taut with anticipation. He wants to yell at her to move, to run, to charge back, to do anything but fucking stand still and let herself be trampled. 

Seconds later, Nick realizes he was stupid to worry. The giant is only a foot from collision when Avory ducks and darts forward, immediately turning to focus on the man who stumbles to a halt, his open arms still grasping for a body that was no longer there. He turns, growls, and charges again. Just as before, Avory waits until his fingertips are nearly on her before she jumps to the side, whirls around behind him before he can halt his momentum. This time, she delivers a swift kick to the back of the man's knee. It's almost as high as she can effectively reach. 

Coupled with his unstoppable momentum, the blow causes him to fall forward, forces him to throw his hands on the pavement, stops just short of smashing his forehead on the pavement. Avory looks pleased, almost allows herself a self-satisfied smirk. An axe chipping away at a giant Sequoia, every splinter of wood counts. 

Enthralled, the crowd grows louder each time Avory narrowly escapes the man's grasp. They dance around each other like a matador fighting a bull, Avory almost taunting the man, landing cheap shots wherever she can manage. Each jab only enrages the brute further, to the point that Nick swears he sees the man start to paw the ground before each charge. He almost laughs imagining steam coming from his ears and a giant ring piercing is septum. Avory, too, seems to be mildly amused by the fight. Nick is surprised to see her so keen after the last match, but she flutters about surprisingly light on her feet, never staying in one spot more than a few seconds. Her eyes never leave the giant in the ring, even as he throws his weight about like a wrecking ball.

Several minutes in and Nick is too focused on the fight to light another cigarette. When adrenaline was fresh and the threat new, Avory had been exhilarated enough to keep up with the challenge. She had grinned as she circled the man, dangling herself in front of him like bait only to disappear into thin air, leaving him empty handed and embarrassed each time. But now, Nick can see the signs of fatigue. Her blood pressure has been too high for the bleeding from her last battle to stop, blood ebbs from her wounds and with it, so does her energy. She no longer seems to float above the ground, each step becomes sluggish and her posture hunched, desperate for more oxygen her body can’t provide. 

The crowd can see it too. With each charge, the bull gets closer to goring her. He runs at Avory again and she evades him, but only just. She stumbles as she jumps to safety, her left hand clutches the laceration on her side while her right sticks straight out, seeking balance. Panic rises in Nick once again as she stays there, hunched over and gasping for breath, as the bull paws at the ground, thirsty for another attack. 

The man starts at her.

“Avory!” Nick shrieks, “God damnit, fucking move!”

Avory doesn’t lift her head, but she nods. Four, three, two, one stride out and Avory drops to the ground, rolls out of harm’s way at the last possible second. Nick breathes a sigh of relief. But now that she’s down, she struggles to get up. Her arms tremble with effort as she pushes her way to her knees. She’s slow, too fucking slow. She’s barely to all fours when the bull turns back on her, his eyes widened with murderous frenzy. Nick watches in slow motion as he approaches her, his stride slow for the first time since entering the ring, savoring each second as he approaches his victim. Avory doesn’t look up, but she must sense his presence because she starts to crawl as quickly as she can toward the edge of the ring. The bull walks behind her, no longer in a hurry now that she’s so slow, so weak.

Yet, the crowd is thirsty for more bloodshed, rooting for the giant underdog to finally wipe out the girl who stood champion for so long. Saliva sprays from savage mouths as they call for her head. The unfolding events chill Nick to his bones. They’re just kids. Him. Avory. Each person in the crowd, all children begging for the death of another child. He looks to Konnor, arms still crossed, his skeleton features blank. There’s not a single bone in his body that feels any of this. 

Nick’s own anger erupts from depths so deep he didn’t know he could tap. He turns to Konnor, shoves him as hard as he can. It’s just enough to make Konnor unfold his arms, to level his dead stare at Nick. 

“Fucking stop this!” Nick screams, his voice breaking.

Expressionless as ever, Konnor simply straightens, folds his arms once more, and turns back to the pit. “No.”

He’s about to shove him again, to punch him, kick him in the shin, beat the ever living shit out of him until the rest of the Reds pull him off, but the crowd bursts into cheers and Nick turns back to Avory. She’s lying on her side now, a foot away from the opposite end of the ring, curled in on herself. The bull stands over her, his arms held above his head as if absorbing the energy from the crowd. And with that energy, he drives his foot into Avory’s stomach.

Her mouth splits open in a silent scream and she rolls away from the source of the pain, arms wrapped around her abdomen. She lifts her chin and her tear filled eyes scan the crowd. She glances briefly at Nick before passing over him to Konnor, a desperate plea in her eyes.  She’s running on empty, too weak to fight, unable to take much more yet powerless to end her suffering. Konnor could stop this at any moment. Nick looks to him too, his heart already heavy with despair. 

One word and Konnor could put an end to the fight, he could save Avory’s life. But Nick knows the cost is too high. Stepping in to save her would set a dangerous precedent that Konnor’s subjects didn’t have to die for him. Protecting her would make Konnor look weak, would make her look valuable. Letting her die, however, cost him nothing but a night at the pit. Another bet, another gladiator, another child, lost.

Nick can’t afford a loss like that. 

Avory is all he has, all he’s ever had. From the first day he met her, when she had been welcomed into the foster home with open arms by the guardians who promised devotion yet disappeared just as quickly as the state officials, she had stuck her neck out for him. At nine years old, her knobby knees poking out every which way and her knotted hair equally as wild, Avory had more fight in her than he did at thirteen. When dinner time rolled around that night and the pirate-like hierarchy of unsupervised children reared its ugly head, Nick had already retreated to his makeshift bed of tattered towels in the corner. Being low on the totem pole and resources scarce, he would be having sleep for dinner once again. 

As the new kid, Avory’s right to food didn’t exist. Until she insisted. Until that wild haired, wide eyed little kid screamed, and stole, and kicked until no one, not even the oldest, wanted to waste energy on the crazy new girl. Nick had watched her then, admired her ferocity, her ability to charge head on into the unknown and take what she needed. He admired her more when she didn’t hoard her newfound treasures, when she handed out meager scraps to other kids who were too afraid, too weak, too beaten down to take anything for themselves. Himself included.

 The relationship that blossomed turned into something Nick had never experienced. Something kind, something crafted with care, something comfortable. Nick wasn’t accustomed to anything of the sort. No, the types of relationships he knew were violent, only existing because he was told there was no other option, because fear kept him from hoping for better. If there wasn’t anger, there was nothing, an empty hole void of attention, of love, of connection. What he and Avory found with each other made him feel the way old tv shows made him feel, like he was safe, protected, loved. Like he had a family.

Family is too rare a thing to lose without a fight. 


	4. Chapter Four

Reckless determination flashes, courage furrowing Nick’s brow as he breaks into the ring. Konnor doesn’t stop him, simply watches with skeptical amusement, eyes pinched in annoyance. Avory thinks to yell, sure she and Konnor are thinking the same thing.

_ Nick, you fucking idiot. _

Before she can form the words, the brute of a man towering over her delivers another kick to her torso. This time it’s her lower back and she howls in pain, her body arching as if he had introduced electricity to her nervous system. Her eyes snap shut and her vision flashes white. It’s impossible to tell anymore where the pain is coming from, every nerve fires burning agony from head to toe.

Yet even with her mind swimming through a fog of pain, she can hear the crowd rise in volume. She knows it’s Nick. She knows she needs to stop him, to protect him, to get off her ass and fucking do something. Slowly, her eyes peel open, her vision still obscured by a blinding white light at the edges. She struggles to make her eyes focus, to distinguish those at the edge of the pit from those standing in the center. The world seems to spin, wobbling every which way like a coin spinning seconds before it falls flat.

Avory wedges her arms underneath her, forces herself up onto all fours. The vertigo takes its toll and she heaves, her body spasming as her belly is emptied of its contents. Vomit splashes across her hands and forearms, and she persists, struggling to her feet as bile drips down her chin. Try as she might, she can’t bring herself to stand tall, can’t help herself from clutching the now gaping wound on her left side. Balance is nearly impossible, though improving with every second as her eyes slowly come to focus.

In front of her, Nick had captured the attention of the man in the ring, and the man has already captured Nick.

The bull has Nick by the throat, his feet dangle uselessly three feet above the ground. Avory can’t see his face, but she can see the strain in his body as he claws at the bull’s forearms, perspiration soaking through shaggy blonde curls. She can see the face of the man holding him, pupils so dilated his eyes have turned into black holes, mouth stretched into a maniacal grin so wide he looks as though he could swallow Nick whole.

“You absolute fucking idiot.” Avory spits blood as she speaks, too quiet for either to hear over the rumbling of the spectators, but loud enough for her to hear the fear in her own voice.

When it came to smarts, Nick had her beat hands down. That was his job, the way he balanced out her brazen, headfirst approach was to skirt his way around problems with his wit. But today, apparently, he had decided to turn off his fucking brain and blindly run into a fight he had no business joining. And now, bruised and battered and unable to fall back on her intelligence to get them out of this, Avory had to limp her ass back into the fire to pull him out.

“Hey!” She rasps a yell. “Giant idiot, put him down!”

The brute drops his gaze to her, his grin doesn’t falter in the slightest. In fact, he looks thrilled to see her standing. And why wouldn’t he? She is no threat to him, and he knows it. Sure, she was able to out-maneuver him in the beginning, but the only damage she dealt was to his pride. She’s an easy target, a glutton for punishment, a chimp pulling a tiger’s tail, and the tiger is ready to eat.

Nick collapses to the ground in a heap, legs binding up beneath him like a fawn, gasping for air as his hands massage his sore throat. Avory is relieved to see him able to breathe. He looks over his shoulder at her, his expression a seamless blend of gratitude and terror.

“Move, shit dick!” Avory throws her arm wide, frantically waves him away. “Get out of the fucking pit!”

Nick flinches at her tone, but he doesn’t move. She wants to yell again, but there’s no time. The brute has been stalking his way toward her and is closing in. A massive, unstoppable wall of angry muscle and she doesn’t have the energy to find a way around. Still, she has to try. Just as the man’s hands are about to wrap around her form, Avory shuffles as quickly as she can manage around him. It’s a feeble attempt. She barely makes it past his side when he wraps her in his arms, pulls her back against his chest and squeezes her so tight she fears her ribs will crack.

At this point, she thinks it might be a relief if he snaps her in two. A few brief moments of excruciating pain as her ribs snap, puncture her lungs. She wonders what it would be like to drown in her own blood. Would it be fast, or would she choke and suffer? Would she lose consciousness before life left her, or would she be awake until the bitter end? Would she know which breath would be her last?

“Who wants to see this little cunt ripped in half?” The brute speaks for the first time, the deep bass of his voice fills her chest with vibrations.

A deafening uproar from the crowd is his reply.

Avory lets her head fall back against the man’s chest, even as her entire body shakes with his belly laugh. One of his arms moves from around her chest to around her neck, his forearm so thick she couldn’t move her head even if she tried. He squeezes his bicep and pinches her airway, forces her mouth open, her body’s natural reflex to gasp for oxygen is unavoidable. She wonders if he really will rip her in half, effortlessly pinch her head off like a child popping the top off a dandelion.

“Please!” So shrill his voice is nearly unrecognizable, Nick screams. “Please, stop!”

Avory’s eyes dart to the edge of the pit where Nick stands, straining against the two members of the Reds who hold him by the arms. If she could take a deep breath, she would sigh in relief. At least he made it out of the ring, at least he was safe. Watching her die would fuck him up, sure, but he would be alive. Maybe he’d really leave the gang, like he always talked about. Maybe he’d die of old age, a spouse at his side and children to carry on his name. Nick Shepard was a good person, he deserved that much.

Konnor says something then and another boy in a red shirt steps forward, delivers a swift punch to Nick’s gut and he doubles over as far as he can while still being held. Avory shifts her gaze to Konnor, who makes direct eye contact. To most, his stare was ghostly, devoid of emotion and completely unreadable. But Avory had gotten to know him in a way most of the Reds hadn’t, Nick included. His stares always meant something, always held a command. Most were too dumb to catch it.

Avory knows that when Konnor looks from her, to Nick, and back to her, that his gaze lingers a little too long on Nick. Fearful understanding must be plain on her face because Konnor purses his lips ever so slightly, the way he does when he’s disappointed that she caught on too late. His flat, sinister voice echoes throughout her skull.  _ A shame you’re so simple. A simple, stupid little girl. _

The two hanging on to Nick weren’t just there to keep him from reentering the ring, they were to hold him hostage for her to see. Nick was embarrassing the Reds. Avory was failing the Reds. If she died, Nick would soon follow.

Realization strikes fire in her belly, rage boils her blood. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fucking fair. Avory tries to scream, but the brute is still just barely cutting off her oxygen supply, her throat pinched too tightly to produce a sound. He’s goading the crowd, dragging her about like a rag doll, an afterthought to his primary goal of feeding his ego. Her toes drag against the asphalt as he whips her around, making sure everyone gets a good look at her, bloodied and exhausted, shaking with anger but powerless in his grip.

He rotates a full circle, stops in a position from which she can get eyes on Nick again. Two members of the Reds still hold on to his arms, though he doesn’t struggle. In fact, he’s barely standing at all. They support his entire body as he slumps forward, knees weak and feet unable to find purchase. The third boy, the one who had sucker punched him, holds his head up by a fistful of hair as his other hand drives hit after hit into his gut.

“Fungh-ing piec-ez ah schzi-!” Avory spits a curse, throat pressed tight against the bull’s arm.

“What’s that, little one?” The giant laughs, assuming it’s him she’s yelling at. The crowd laughs with him. “You have something to say?”

She wants to laugh too. Desperately, Avory wants to break free of his grasp, snap his neck and laugh over his twitching corpse. She wants to find the knife responsible for her wounds and plunge it into the spine of each of the Reds causing Nick harm. She wants to sink her teeth into Konnor’s neck and rip open his jugular, stand amidst the red spray and bathe in his blood. As her hatred surges forward, so does the familiar tingle of eezo. As natural as blood, it flows through her veins, floods her senses with pinpricks of static. As dynamic as electricity, it seeks an outlet, a place to ground, an object through which it can flow.

All it takes is the relaxation of her mind, the conscious part of her that has clamped down on her abilities for so long, she can’t believe how much effort it took to keep it all in until she cuts loose. In an instant, cerulean energy washes over her, illuminates so brightly the street lights are dulled in comparison. Just as quickly, the bull drops her, and she falls into a heap on the ground. The crowd goes silent.

Her biotics both drain and energize her, enough that she’s able to stand with little difficulty, but her movements are slow. She turns to face the bull, who is backing away from her now, his once murderous eyes now clouded with fear.  _ Good _ , she thinks,  _ you should be scared _ . The surrounding crowd backs away from her as well, increasing the size of the pit, giving the man nowhere to retreat.

Briefly, Avory remembers Nick trying to teach her about the fights held by some ancient civilization, people who ceased to exist long before space flight. They had tossed people into a pit much like this one, trapped them with wild animals in a fight to the death that the humans had no hope of winning. At the time, she had thought she was the innocent victim in his scenario, someone who needed protection. Now, as she stalks toward her prey, Avory realizes she’s not the victim. She’s never been the victim, never been the gladiator. She’s the animal, sent into the pit to take out whatever poor soul was tossed in for her to devour. It wasn’t her who needed saving; it was the bull.

It has been years since she expended this much biotic effort with an amp, let alone without the device. Wearing an amp in the pit was a terrible idea; the telltale port at the base of her skull was hard enough to hide, having a device plugged in would out her, make the area an easy target. Fuck, does she wish she had it now. Her entire body vibrates with effort, the sensation weakening by the second.

Cloaked in dark energy, Avory marches toward the man. The grown ass man who had been using her for his own sick satisfaction up until a few seconds ago, a giant of a man who was now blubbering, frothing at the mouth as he begs forgiveness. She would grant him none.

They’re near the edge of the pit when she catches up to him. He’s on his back, scooting desperately away. Avory raises her leg over him and roars as she stomps down, concentrating all of her biotics into her heel as it connects with the bull’s knee. Finally, she grants the electricity within release. It cracks like lightning striking directly overhead and the blue light radiating from her disappears just as quickly, leaving everyone blinded by the sudden flash.

In the darkness, the only sound is howling. A haunting, disgusting wail from the grown man she just crippled. Avory doesn’t need to wait for her eyes to readjust to know what she did, but she doesn’t move. She wants the crowd to see what happens next. She wants the Reds to know what is coming to them. She wants Konnor to know what she is capable of.

Behind her, someone wretches. A few spectators scream. At least one is crying. Avory cocks her head as she looks down at the bull, who is bent forward at the waist, his mouth open wide as he screams a sob, his fists pound the ground beside him. His left leg is still stretched out before him. His right, all but obliterated. Half of his thigh is all that remains, and it ends in a blunt, crushed stump. At the opposite end, his foot lies on the asphalt. What used to be his knee and his shin are completely flattened, stomped into the ground with such force that flecks of meat and flesh look to be part of the asphalt itself.

Avory has to admit, she is impressed by her strength. But it’s not enough. Summoning what little energy she has left, she concentrates on bringing her biotics to the forefront. They’re nowhere near as powerful now, the next blow won’t be nearly as gruesome, but it will make a matched pair out of his legs.

Again, she lifts her leg, focuses on the bull’s remaining knee. She almost smiles, and then, a large, bony claw lands heavy on her shoulder. The hand is cold as ice and it freezes her in place, sucks all of her biotics back into her core as if to warm herself from the inside out.

“Well done, girl.” Konnor coos in her ear. “Well done.”

Avory shivers, lowers her leg and stands quietly, her eyes locked on the bull’s one intact leg. She balls her fists at her sides, wills herself not to look for Nick. She can’t take the chance now, she’s risked too much already. Konnor’s looming presence makes that clear.

Konnor raises his voice, just loud enough that those on the front line of the crowd can hear. “I think you’ve done enough for tonight. Let the man leave.”

For a moment, no one dares to move. Not even Nissa, who levels a seething stare at Avory and Konnor as her giant’s wails fade into shocked, anguished tremors. Avory doesn’t lift her eyes from the man’s destroyed leg. This is the first time she’s seen this type of injury. Stab wounds, gunshots, fractured limbs and broken noses are familiar territory, but this is new. Soon, she assumes, the man will go into shock. She wonders if then Konnor will let her finish the job.

“Go on, then.” Konnor looks down at the man. “Leave.”

The man’s face is white as winter’s first snow, the question on everyone’s mind almost falls from his lips.  _ How? _ No one verbalizes the concern, and Konnor is a wealth of patience, so they remain still for several minutes before the giant realizes no one is coming to his aid, and that Konnor’s show of mercy was anything but.

Clumsily, the man rolls to one side, struggles to finagle his remaining foot underneath him. No one from the Serpents moves to help him. Avory is astonished the man can move at all, let alone push himself onto his knee. He wobbles and sways there before falling onto his ass. On his third attempt to stand, Nissa finally gives a nod and sends a handful of serpents into the pit to help drag the man away. Avory takes a chance and looks up to Konnor, a slight dimple in his cheek tells her he’s pleased. She hopes it’s her who caused his satisfaction.

“You’ve got a fuckin’ quad,” Nissa speaks up, gruff, with arms crossed over her chest, “bringing that freak here.”

The insult stings Avory as badly the fourth Serpent’s blade. Mild as it may sound, she knows everyone who witnessed her power now thought the same. An alien, an abomination, it’s what she’s always been, the reason her biological family had cast her aside when her biotics first manifested. Up until now, she had kept that part of her a secret from everyone but the Reds. There was no reason to show off and every reason to hide. Even the outcasts that made up Chicago’s underbelly were unkind to biotics. After what she just did, she couldn’t blame them. Years of keeping herself hidden, keeping her abilities under control, ruined by a few minutes of desperation. No wonder people like her were deemed a danger to humanity. What she had just done was anything but human.

Avory struggles to keep her chin up against the insult. Konnor, as always, is unfazed. If anything, Avory thinks she sees the dimple in his cheek deepen, feels his grip on her shoulder tighten. It’s almost as if he’s proud. The thought inflates her chest.

Nissa doesn’t keep her composure as well. “You’ll pay for this.” She growls.

Now, Konnor displays a thin smile. “I’m sure I will, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might be more than one month until the next update. I'll be moving and that will eat up a lot of time. Thanks to anyone still reading along!


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